


Jerry

by the_nerd_word



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_word/pseuds/the_nerd_word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recalling memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerry

Every morning, the buses were parked out front by the yellow curb. I can still remember their ugly blue seats and the way that people would walk into the bellies of those buses without really looking at anything. Most of all, I remember “Good morning!” and the way it sounded rolling off his old, wet tongue. He was one of four drivers that semester, responsible for making the campus circuit every fifteen minutes. There were lines on his face, a map of his years, and white hair stuck out from beneath his driver’s cap. He introduced himself around September when the Texas heat was still thick.

As the weeks went by, he began to talk as old people do. He didn’t reminisce or drone, but he always talked. Many times, he asked questions about me. He asked about my classes, my family, my goals. I usually exaggerated so my answers were always happy ones.

Sometimes, I would watch him talk with other students. He would smile and say Hello, and some of them would be real people but others just twitched their lips and took their seats. I hated seeing that.

One day, he gave me a magazine, told me that he had already read it, that he had the subscription, that I might like to order something from it. I was embarrassed, but I thanked him before putting the magazine in my backpack.

I began to dread seeing him. Not because he was weird or imposing, but because I am rude like everyone else. But I didn’t let him know this. I was still cheerful, more than all the others.

On October 4th, he told me Happy Birthday. I tried to be casual about it.

Guilt made me keep that magazine for more than a month. It was filled with trains and dolls and clocks – a whole city made of paper. I can still remember the way its pages felt; they were that thin, grainy sort of quality, the kind with bold washes of color.

In November, I told him I was leaving the school. When he asked why, I said money was reason. He said he understood, nodded like he understood.

Some people just have souls that you can wrap whole thoughts around. His was bright like that, even though, for a while, I did my best to look away. Friendliness for four months, hey- That’s more than I’m capable of.

I told myself I won’t forget his name.

 

 

 


End file.
